


5 Times Fury Saw Something On Security He Really Didn't Want To

by lilsmartass, ramsay_baggins



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humor, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramsay_baggins/pseuds/ramsay_baggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just as the title describes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Raining Men

Fury sighed, taking another gulp of coffee. It was during this moment he realised he hadn't heard something indicating a problem for a while. Too long a while. He narrowed his eyes as he pushed himself over to the security camera bank, still mentally reeling through the paperwork even Coulson didn't have access to. He skimmed over the feeds until he stopped at one which caught his eye. The Officer's Mess. It took him a moment to figure out what was happening. The whole Avengers team was sitting around the tables as they watched Tony doing something. It took another moment before Fury realised whatever Tony was doing was directed at Rogers who looked rather mortified. The others were clapping and apparently laughing. Then it hit Fury as Tony suddenly opened his shirt, slowly pulled it off of his shoulders and then feigned a kiss at Steve.  
“Superheroes,” Fury murmured to himself as he turned away from the security feed. He took another mouthful of the hot coffee and turned back to his paperwork to try and shove that image out of his head with forms.


	2. Shadow Puppets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lilsmartass for this chapter!

Fury would never admit it, but he worried about Phil in the aftermath of being stabbed through the heart. He didn’t watch him constantly, that would be weird and creepy and Phil would, possibly literally, kill him when he was released. But he does keep an eye on the security feed from Medical, as often as he can spare one.  
He hasn’t been sparing one often enough apparently because, when he looks up from the requisition form (new tables for the Officer’s Mess, apparently the old ones hadn’t been strong enough to withstand a Norse god belly dancing on one) he’s filling in – how do these things go again? Damn it, Phil, this isn’t even my job? – he’s gone.  
Not frantic, merely…concerned, Fury flicks through the feeds, stopping briefly on the camera over the niche behind the nurse’s station, newly installed after someone had pointed out the obvious flaw in having a camera blind spot where agents might be vulnerable and off-guard.  
There’s definitely someone in there…  
He squints briefly at the grainy image, because it takes a moment for his eyes to fully parse out what he’s looking at. Not one figure, but two, undulating against each other in perfect tandem. It’s not precisely his fault, he hadn’t even known Barton could bend like that. He glares at the image for another few second, then the full realisation of what he’s looking at slams into him like a brick to the gut, he hastily slams the feed off and picks up his pen once again, twirling it between his fingers.  
After a second though, he drops the pen and pushes the incomplete form to the side of the desk. He had been fully intent on giving Phil the time he actually needed to heal but if he was strong enough to pound Barton into the wall with that level of force, he was perfectly capable of filing a couple of completely necessary forms.


	3. Poster Boy

Fury rubbed his temples after a particularly gruelling conference with the World Security Council. They were anxious for updates on the Avengers latest mission and he did not value wasting time repeating himself over and over to the faceless interrogators. He decided to check the security feeds before he got back to other more important tasks such as making himself coffee and menacing the interns on the flight deck. He browsed through them lazily, not expecting to see anything when one feed caught his curiosity. He squinted at the screen before zooming in. Hill was doing something with her computer set up, changing the background. Changing it to... oh hell. Tony Stark's GQ cover. His face creased with confusion, he could understand Rogers, but Hill always seemed to hate Stark. His eyes widened as he witnessed something he would take to his grave. She was getting up to leave, but before logging off of her computer she looked around, pressed two fingers to her lips and then against the picture of Tony on the screen. He flicked the off switch on the screen and sat for a few moments, trying to process what he'd seen. Suddenly he shook his head and stood up.  
“It better be damn good coffee today.”


	4. Pretty In Pink

The intern burst into the room unannounced and unwanted. Fury was on his feet instantly.  
“You better have a damn good reason for this,” he growled.  
The intern was bent over, gasping for breath.  
“You need to check the security footage, sir.”  
Fury quickly walked over to the screen and flicked through the cameras before he found the one the intern had referenced. It was hard to miss. He stared in absolute disbelief.  
“What the hell?” he let out under his breath.  
He could not process what his eyes were seeing. He knew that some of the Avengers had been booked in for another round of fittings for their new outfits with new, specially designed fabrics and better cuts, but never in a thousand lifetimes could have ever guessed he would have laid eyes on the scene playing out. With a tailor on either side of him, the Hulk stood in front of a mirror. Wearing a dress. A pink dress. And smiling. He actually seemed to be enjoying it.  
Fury suddenly became aware of his gaping mouth and closed it, before promptly whimpering as the Hulk did a turn in the mirror, clearly very much happy with his new choice of garment.  
Fury slowly turned his hair to the desk and picked up his pen.  
“Memo from Fury,  
The Hulk is never allowed to go on mission in a pink dress.”


	5. Just Dropping In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lilsmartass for this chapter!

Once upon a time, Barton’s insistence on travelling mainly by way of the vents had been an effective way of honing his skills of subterfuge and surveillance. Now that everyone knows he does it, everyone in HQ is aware of the smallest noise, the slightest shift, and everyone with level three clearance or higher knows almost instantly when he stops over their desks for more than a few seconds. None of this stops Clint actually using the vents for transport, but, nowadays, it’s mostly for fun.  
He’s come from the mess via his favourite piece of duct work – the ones up against the hot water pipes so they’re toasty warm with no protruding metal to burn him – with his prize carefully in his hand. He’s taking his time, meticulously careful not to get even the smallest speck of dust on the last of the chocolate powered donuts he’d grabbed from right under Sitwell’s nose to bring for Coulson. He draws to a stop over the vent above Coulson’s desk. He’s not in the office, but that doesn’t phase Clint at all. Coulson always comes back to his office, a bird coming home to roost.  
With one hand, he unscrews the grating. Usually he slithers out, making full use of the flexibility the circus gave him, but today, mindful of the treat in his hand, he settles himself at the edge, legs dangling carelessly down and pushes.  
For a second, he falls, and then shirt catches hard on one of the jagged corners. Damn, he has time to think, I liked this shirt. But it doesn’t rip, letting him drop to the ground, instead, the fabric bunches, halting his progress and securing him a foot above the desk, rib cage exposed, and scowling.  
For a second, it’s funny, if annoying. But no matter how he twists, he can get neither the shirt to finally tear and free him, or a hand up far enough to un-hook himself or pull himself back up. He curses and splutters, dropping the donut carefully to the desk, to land precisely on the only free spot of the varnished wood and devotes all of his energy to twisting and wriggling. He’s stuck fast. With his shirt bunched as it is, he can’t even slip it and get free that way.  
He’s getting frantic by now, he has a reputation to uphold, he can’t have people see him like this. The thought evidently jinxes him, because it has no sooner crossed his mind than he hears the worst sound he possibly good, the subtle rattle of the doorknob as someone pushes the door open.  
It’s not as bad as it could be, but Natasha still regards him with a smirk. The kind of smirk that reminds him he was sent after her because she’s an evil, amoral bitch.  
“Tasha, love of my life. A hand?”  
She widens the smirk and raises an eyebrow. “What’s it worth?”  
“You…you’re supposed to be a communist! You’re Russian, you don’t approve of personal wealth!”  
She ostentatiously ignores him, eyes flitting about, “Oh, look, a donut.”  
He knows it’s playing right into her trap but he can’t help himself, kicking out wildly and sending himself spinning, “Leave that alone. It’s Phil’s.”  
Natasha grins. “You know, when were together, you never did let me find out if your feet were ticklish.”  
“They are,” Clint babbles, “I don’t need you to find out, I know. They are.”  
Natasha’s eyes light up, and he knows it’s no good. He tries to retain his dignity by not screaming like a school-girl when she undoes his laces and draws one cold finger gently from heel to toe.  
Four levels away, Fury sighs and, since there’s no one here to see, drops his head to the desk. “Why did I promote them to superheroes again?” he asks his empty office.


End file.
